


Fall Out Chipmunk

by The WinneplaneO Girls (beckers), thelunaticfringe



Category: Backstreet Boys, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, The Academy Is...
Genre: CHIPMUNKS!!!, Crack, Gen, Ridiculous, This Is STUPID, chipmunks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 22:06:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckers/pseuds/The%20WinneplaneO%20Girls, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelunaticfringe/pseuds/thelunaticfringe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are three chipmunks sitting on Patrick’s chest, staring solemnly at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall Out Chipmunk

**Author's Note:**

> From 2008. This is just utter and complete ridiculousness from beginning to end. I apologize.

**_Fall Out Chipmunk_ ** ****

_“What the fuck are you guys doing?” Patrick Stump asked, his eyes widening._

_The three other members of Fall Out Boy—Pete Wentz, Joe Trohman, and Andy Hurley—looked up guiltily.  They were huddled over Patrick’s laptop, and a high, squeaky vocal was emanating from it._

_“Just fucking around,” Pete said, and quickly hit a button.  Dismayed sounds from Andy and Joe prompted Pete to look at the laptop, and a stricken look came over his face._

_“Um—Trick?” he said hesitantly.  “You’re gonna be pissed . . . .”_

**_**********_ ** ****

There is a weight on his chest. 

Patrick didn’t want to open his eyes.  He had fallen asleep on his bed after finding Andy, Joe, and Pete fucking around with his laptop and going ballistic on them.  Pete had accidentally recorded over a vocal Patrick had been working with, and he had just gone off on all of them for bothering his stuff.  Then, Patrick had stalked into his room and fallen asleep. 

Now, however, there is this weight on his chest. 

Sighing, Patrick feels the weight move with the expansion and retraction of his chest, and he cracks open his eyes, wondering if Pete had brought Hemmy in, or if Penny had climbed onto his chest while he had been asleep. 

There are three chipmunks sitting on Patrick’s chest, staring solemnly at him. 

Patrick’s brain refuses to process the information at first.  He closes his eyes, then opens them again. 

The chipmunks are still staring at him.  Then, the one in the middle opens his mouth, and Patrick hears Pete’s voice—although quite a bit higher than normal.  “Trick?  Are you awake?” 

Patrick lies there a moment, then his mind suddenly realizes that the chipmunk—the _chipmunk_ —sitting on his chest just spoke to him with Pete’s voice. 

“What the fuck!” he exclaims, sitting up suddenly.  The chipmunks fly to the end of the bed, and Patrick stares at them as they regain their footing. 

“Nice.”  A variation of Andy’s voice emanates from a thin chipmunk who is . . . . 

Wearing glasses? 

“What the fuck,” Patrick says again, staring at the three chipmunks, who are standing in a line, staring back at him. 

“We appear,” the chipmunk with Andy’s voice says, “to have been turned into chipmunks last night.” 

“A-andy?” Patrick says hesitantly. 

“Yes,” Andy-chipmunk answers.  “And Pete.  And Joe.” 

Patrick closes his eyes tightly.  “I am not talking to chipmunks,” he says aloud, then opens his eyes. 

Andy-chipmunk, Pete-chipmunk, and Joe-chipmunk are still staring at him. 

Patrick closes his eyes again.  “Talking chipmunks do not exist,” he says aloud, then opens his eyes again. 

“Yeah,” Joe-chipmunk says.  “So how do you explain the fact that you _are_ talking to chipmunks, and apparently, talking chipmunks _do_ exist?” 

**_**********_ ** ****

The next few hours, for Patrick, are quite surreal. 

For one thing, he finds out that Fall Out Boy as chipmunks are even bigger slobs than Fall Out Boy as humans.  And Patrick had thought that was impossible. 

When he walks into his kitchen, he stops and looks in shock.  Every bag of chips, every box of cereal, and every box of crackers he has is open and the contents are strewn all over the floor.  Patrick finds crackers hidden under the rug in the kitchen, and he holds them up and looks at the three chipmunks, who have followed him and are looking quite shame-faced. 

“What,” he asks, “is this?” 

It is still quite strange, Patrick thinks, to be talking to chipmunks.  He is still not convinced he is not dreaming. 

Pete-chipmunk shrugs.  “We just got this fucking urge to store food for the winter,” he tells Patrick.  “Maybe it’s a chipmunk thing.” 

“You made a goddamned mess,” Patrick says, picking his way through the kitchen and going into the living room.  When he sees the living room, he draws in his breath and yells, “Peter!!” 

“Yes, Patrick?” 

Patrick turns to glare at Pete-chipmunk, who is looking at him innocently.  “What,” Patrick says in a flat tone, “is _this_?” 

Pete-chipmunk peers at the television screen.  “It’s a television?” 

Patrick clenches his fists, not noticing Andy-chipmunk and Joe-chipmunk cowering in the corner.  “I know it’s a television, Peter, but why is _Porno Isn’t Just for Pyros_ playing on my television?”  He shakes his head.  “Never mind.  What in the hell am I going to do with you three?” 

Pete scampers up Patrick’s leg and nestles under Patrick’s chin.  “Figure out how to change us back.” 

**_**********_ ** ****

The next three days are very trying for Patrick and his chipmunk band mates.  Andy-chipmunk, Joe-chipmunk, and Pete-chipmunk can’t seem to help storing food in odd places, and—more than once—Patrick has slid his feet into his slippers only to encounter jelly beans, M&Ms, and on one memorable occasion, a large glob of peanut butter.  When he confronts the chipmunks, they all line up and look at Patrick with big, sad eyes, and he can’t be angry any more. 

Patrick is beginning to get slightly desperate by the end of the third day.  He is very surprised when there is a knock at his door, and he opens it to reveal Gerard Way standing there. 

“Gee!” Patrick says, surprised and a bit panicked.  After all, his band mates have turned into chipmunks, and he’s not quite sure how to turn them back. 

“Hey, Trick.”  Gerard stands uncertainly at the door, then says, “Um—can I come in?” 

“Oh, sure.  Sure.”  Patrick steps aside and allows Gerard to walk in.  Behind Gerard’s back, Patrick makes frantic shooing motions at the three chipmunks who have scurried to the kitchen door. 

“So, Gee,” Patrick says, “what brings you by?” 

“We were in the neighborhood doing a radio show, so I thought I’d stop by.”  Gerard glances at the kitchen and his eyes widen.  “Trick?  There’s something moving in your kitchen.  Looks like a rodent.” 

“A rodent?” Pete-chipmunk squeaks indignantly, jumping up on Patrick’s counter.  “Gerard Way, I’ll store your nuts for winter, you bastard!” 

Gerard stares at Pete-chipmunk, then at Andy-chipmunk and Joe-chipmunk, who have jumped up on the counter beside Pete-chipmunk.  Then, he turns to Patrick, who is glaring daggers at the chipmunks.  “Um, Trick?  That chipmunk sounds a fuck of a lot like Pete Wentz.” 

Patrick sighs.  “He should.  It _is_ Pete Wentz.  And Andy and Joe.” 

“How’d they turn into chipmunks?” Gerard asks curiously. 

“I wish I knew.  Then maybe I could turn them back and they’d quit putting peanut butter in my shoes.” 

“You should call Nick Carter,” Gerard offers.  “I bet he could tell you what to do.” 

“I never thought about him,” Patrick exclaims.  “I bet he _would_ know.” 

“Yes!” the trio of chipmunks chorus.  “Call Nick!” 

“I want my opposable thumbs back,” Joe-chipmunk added grumpily.  “Do you know how fucking hard it is to roll a goddamn joint without opposable thumbs?” 

**_**********_ ** ****

Nick Carter groans aloud when his telephone rings.  He has hoped that he would have a nice, quiet, restful day without any telephone calls or interruptions.  It looks as though, however, this will not be the case. 

Picking up the phone, Nick mumbles, “H’lo?” 

“Nick!” Patrick exclaims.  “I’m so glad you answered!  I really need your help!” 

“Patrick?” Nick says.  “Hey, man, what’s up?  You sound fucking frantic.” 

“My band mates have turned into chipmunks!” Patrick shouts into the phone.  “They keep putting peanut butter in my shoes and storing food for the winter!  They sound like someone has sped up their voices, and Pete keeps ordering porn on my pay-per-view!” 

Nick hears a protesting squeak from Patrick’s end of the line, and then Patrick yells, “Peter!!”  When Patrick comes back to the phone, his voice is despairing.  “And Pete can hide in places now where I can’t find him to kick his ass!” 

Nick suppresses a chuckle.  “You’re kidding.  Pete Wentz is a _chipmunk_?” 

“Stop laughing at me,” Patrick says petulantly.  “It’s not just Pete, it’s Joe and Andy, too.” 

Nick stifles his laughter.  When he is finally under control, he says, “You know, this happened to us a couple of times.  Kevin actually turned into a chimpanzee one time in Australia.” 

“So how do I fix it?” Patrick asks. 

“Do you know _why_ they turned into chipmunks?” Nick asks.  “When Kevin turned into a chimpanzee, it was because he had watched some stupid movie so many goddamned times that he pissed us all off with it.  The only way we were able to turn him back was for all of us to watch it with him and then he turned back.” 

“That’s a fucking stupid reason to turn into a chimpanzee,” Patrick says. 

“Stupid or not, that’s what happened.  So, why did your band mates turn into chipmunks?” 

“I don’t know,” Patrick answers.  “I just woke up one morning and they were all chipmunks.” 

“Anything unusual happen?” 

“No,” Patrick begins, then stops.  “No way,” he says to himself.  “It couldn’t be that easy.” 

“What?” Nick says sharply.  “What happened?” 

Patrick explains to Nick what had happened with the vocal recording and the laptop.  When he was done, Nick sounds very self-satisfied as he says, “Well, there you go.  You got pissed off because they turned one of your vocal tracks into chipmunk tracks, and they turned into chipmunks.” 

“So this is my fault,” Patrick says slowly. 

“Not exactly,” Nick assures him.  “You didn’t fuck up the track.” 

“So it _is_ their fault!” Patrick exclaims. 

“And don’t think like that, either,” Nick cautions.  “It’s because you got pissed at what they did, I think.  You can’t stay pissed at them forever, because then they’ll be chipmunks forever.”  He can’t help himself; he laughs aloud.  “Fall Out Chipmunk.  That’s fucking funny.” 

“Yeah,” Patrick says in a surly tone.  “You try living with three chipmunks that can talk.  Thanks, Nick.” 

Patrick hangs up the phone and stares at the three chipmunks, who are looking at him expectantly.  “I have to forgive you for fucking up my vocal track,” he says finally. 

“So forgive us,” Andy-chipmunk demands. 

Patrick takes a deep breath.  “I forgive you for fucking up my vocal track,” he says, then waits. 

Five minutes later, the three chipmunks are still sitting there. 

Patrick looks at them and says, “Shit.” 

**_**********_ ** ****

It is getting harder and harder to explain Pete’s absence from the media spotlight.  As much as Patrick wants to tell the incessantly persistent reporters, “Leave Pete the fuck alone.  He’s turned into a chipmunk; he doesn’t need _your_ shit, too,” this presents an obvious problem. 

At last, Pete-chipmunk, Andy-chipmunk, and Joe-chipmunk have a meeting _sans_ Patrick, who is hiding in his room and banging his head against the wall in frustration. 

“I’m fucking tired of being a chipmunk,” Andy-chipmunk declares. 

“We have to figure out what did this and how to reverse it,” Pete-chipmunk says, wrinkling his now furry brow.  He looks down at himself and sighs.  “I miss my tattoos.” 

“I miss my thumbs,” Joe sighs.  “I mean, these paws are OK, but you need _thumbs_ to roll a joint, dude.” 

“Is that all you fucking think about?” Andy-chipmunk says.  “Your goddamned pot?” 

“Don’t fucking get an attitude with me, fuzzy-butt,” Joe retorts.  He lunges at Andy, and the two of them scuffle until they fall off the couch with a loud thump. 

“Peter!!” Patrick yells from his bedroom, and Pete bristles with indignation. 

“It fucking wasn’t me this time!” he yells back, then sighs.  “We have to fucking fix this.” 

**_**********_ ** ****

Patrick comes across the solution quite by accident two days later—a full fourteen days after the incident occurred.

 

Patrick had had a spectacularly bad day—none of the tracks he had worked on sounded right; he had woken up with reporters camped out in front of his apartment building, looking for Pete; and to top it all off, he had found several of his favorite hats chewed up, turned upside down, and stuffed with shredded newspaper, apparently being used as chipmunk beds. 

He is locked in his room, staring at his laptop.  The chipmunk track—which had been saved over a particularly sweet vocal by William Beckett—is still sitting on his desktop, and on impulse, Patrick pulls on his headphones and clicks on the track. 

Outside Patrick’s room, Andy-chipmunk presses his ear to Patrick’s bedroom door.  “I don’t hear anything,” he says fretfully.  “He was really mad when he found his hats.  Maybe he’s planning on throwing us out into the wilderness.” 

“Trick wouldn’t do that,” Pete-chipmunk says with more confidence than he feels.  He yawns and stretches, then says, “I’m going into the living room to watch TV.  Who’s coming with?” 

“I’m in,” Joe-chipmunk says.  Andy-chipmunk agrees, and the three of them climb up onto the couch and turn on the television.  Then, they promptly fall asleep. 

In his bedroom, Patrick is growing more and more excited about the chipmunk track.  After an hour or so, he burns it to a CD and bursts into the living room. 

“Hey, guys,” he begins, then stops in his tracks. 

 _The Mighty Fucks_ (a porn movie about a group of strippers who form a hockey team) is playing on the television.  The living room rugs have oddly shaped lumps under them (which, after investigating, Patrick discovers are random piles of cheese curls, Reese’s Pieces, and Twizzlers), and on the couch . . . . 

“Guys!” Patrick screams, waking up the now human Pete, Andy, and Joe.  “You’re back!”  He takes a flying leap and lands in the middle of the three boys, who let out startled “oofs.” 

“We’re human again,” Pete says, his eyes lighting up.  He looks around the living room and says, “Hey, Trick, someone trashed your house.” 

“Fuck off,” Patrick says, but there is no anger behind his words. 

“How did we turn back?” Joe wonders aloud. 

“I think this might be why,” Patrick says.  He picks up the remote, makes a face at the television screen, then clicks off the television in the middle of a particularly awkward sex scene taking place in the goalie net on the ice of a hockey rink.  Then, he puts the CD in the stereo and turns it on. 

“Hey,” Andy exclaims after a few minutes.  “That’s the vocal we fucked up!” 

“I fixed it,” Patrick declares proudly.  “It’s now a track by The Academy Is . . . a Chipmunk.” 

“Cool,” Pete says.  “I can’t wait to tell Bill.” 

**_**********_ ** ****

_A few miles away, William Beckett awakes.  His blankets feel abnormally heavy, and when he tries to pull them away from his face, the effort it takes is much more than normal._

_He tries to get out of bed, and falls to the floor.  Standing up, he looks at his body in horror.  He is covered with soft brown fur, and when he holds up his hands, they have been replaced with tiny paws._

_“Fuck,” he says to himself.  “I’m a chipmunk.”_


End file.
